Starstruck
by sparklymoonchild
Summary: When Dave is assigned to photograph teen pop star, John Egbert's concert, he may become more than just a photographer to John. Oneshot that will be expanded. Rated T for language.


**__****A/N: here have a oneshot that has a 97% chance of being continued to make up for my absence. ive had this idea in my head for weeks now, so i decided to finally write it down. (and no i haven't forgotten about equinox this will continue once i finish that.) enjoy!**

* * *

_Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. _

What.

_Bzz. Bzz._

It takes me a second to realize that my phone is ringing before I flip over in my bed to grab it from my nightstand. Ugh, who the hell is calling me this early? I glance at the screen- it's Terezi.

"Thanks for waking me up this early."I say groggily.

"Dave, it's two in the afternoon." Terezi points out. "Anyway, guess who I got you booked with for tonight!?"

"Who?" I ask.

"Come on, Dave, guess!"

"Uh, I dunno, another low-key DJ?"

"Nope!"

"Deadmau5?"

"Ugh, I wish, but sadly you are wrong again!" She cackles.

"I give up."

"John Egbert!"

I shoot up in my bed. No fucking way. "How the fuck did you manage that!?"

"I know some people. Guess how much they're paying you?"

"How much?"

"You're going to be taking pictures of him onstage, which is $2,500."

"No way. No fucking way."

"But that's not all! You're meeting him before the show to take one-on-one shots, and then afterwards to take pictures of him and his VIP guests, and with that everything totals down to about four grand."

"Terezi you are a fucking angel, I could actually kiss you right now. This is fantastic."

She cackles, "I guess I'm pretty great. I knew you'd be happy about this, and not just about the money, I know you're secretly an Egbertian."

"Shut the fuck up, his music is too bubblegum pop to even be ironic."

"But wouldn't that make it even more ironic?" She cackles again. "Just be at the arena at five-thirty, his manager should be there. But anyway, I have to get going. I have to drive to down to Pasadena today for some heiress's sweet sixteen. She hired fucking _Nadastrom _as her DJ."

"Damn. Well have fun with that."

"Later, Dave."

"Suck a dick."

"You too."

"Bye." I end the call.

I should probably explain a couple things right now, because you're most likey confused. My name is Dave Strider, and I'm nineteen years old. I live in Houston in a shitty apartment with my Bro, Dirk. I do nightlife photography with one of my best friends, Terezi Pyrope. I got into it when I was about sixteen and I'd go with Bro to the clubs where he would DJ. After high school, I took it on as a full-time thing, and Terezi needed something on the side to make some extra cash while she started law school, so she teamed up with me. She doesn't photograph much, so she usually just books for me.

And tonight I'll be making _four grand_ while my usual pay is about half that or less. I'm taking pictures of teen heart-throb John Egbert, my biggest event yet.

In case you haven't caught on, John Egbert in an eighteen year old international teen pop sensation. The kid sold out Madison Square Garden in under five minutes, has gotten countless music awards, and his hit song _Midnight Promise_ has been so fucking overplayed on every station that it's gotten to the point where I want to swan dive out of the car every time I hear it. Even when I turn on a dance station on Pandora, I hear at least one shitty remix of it. I think Bro might have even done an ironic remix of it.

Long story short: the kid is fucking everywhere.

But I have to admit, I'm a little giddy. His face has been plastered on the covers of dozens of magazines, and from what I can tell, he hits the hot charts at about a ten. He's good looking, so it's not like I won't be enjoying it while I go deaf to the sound of thirty thousand prepubescent fangirl screams.

* * *

It's five twenty-five and I'm jogging into the entrance of the arena, tossing the photographer ID badge Terezi dropped off for me earlier around my neck. The gates for the show don't open until eight, with the show starting at nine, and traffic is already fucking crazy. I make a sharp left around a hall and almost plow into a guy a whole head and a half shorter than me.

"Watch where you're fucking going, asshat!" he yells.

"Sorry 'bout that, dude, I'm trying find where I'm going to take pictures of Egbert." I hold up my badge.

"You're from Clockwork Photography?" he asks.

"I pretty much _am_ Clockwork Photography." I reach into my pocket, pull out a business card, and hand it to him. He yanks it from my hand and looks at it, scowling.

"I'm Karkat Vantas, John Egbert's manager. Follow me, Mr. Strider unless you don't want your fucking four grand." He drones, leading me back down the hall. He shows me the way to backstage until we stop.

"Where did the little fucker go, he was supposed to be in here." He grumbles. "John! Get your ass out here, the photographer's here! Better not be playing another prank."

He huffs and walks out onto the stage. "I'll just wait here." I yell to Karkat.

Suddenly there's a loud clank and whirring, and Karkat turns around with an annoyed look on his face. "John, quit messing with the fucking elevator, do you want a replay of LA?"

I walk out and peek behind one of the prop walls just in time to see John Egbert being lifted onto the stage by a platform.

"Haha, sorry Karkat!" He laughs, "It's just really fun!"

"Next time you do that, your trap door in Vegas won't have a mattress underneath." Karkat growls. "But anyway, your dumbass photographer is here. Strider!" He calls.

"Hurtful man, I'm not a dumbass. I'll have you know I graduated 150th in my class." I say, walking towards Karkat and Jo- _holy fucking shit._

Magazine shots do not give John Egbert justice at all. He just broke the hot chart and skyrocketed from a ten to, like, a twenty-three.

The eyes behind his thick-framed glasses are the brightest fucking blue I've seen in my entire life, they're like clear blue water. His dark brown hair styled to look messy, and he's doing his oh-so famous, crooked grin. His teeth are perfect and white, and you can tell he's had orthodontic work done as his two front teeth are larger than the rest. His outfit is perfect with a grey v-neck under a blue blazer, jeans that probably cost more than the rent for Bro and I's apartment, and white Nike high tops.

Praise Jesus for this hot piece of ass.

"Strider, close your fucking mouth." Karkat snarls. I immediately snap it shut, not realizing I'd gone slack-jaw in the first place. "I've got shit to do, and so do you, now go take your damn pictures." He stalks backstage, leaving me with John.

"Star struck, huh?" John smirks.

"I, uh, s-sorry. I'm Dave." I stumble, I stick out my hand and he shakes it.

"Haha, it's cool. I'm John, as you probably already know." Dear jegus his hands are smooth.

"Uh, pictures." I hold up my camera. Goddamn it, this kid has me at a loss for words. And it's not because he's famous and I'm fangirling, it's because he's hotter than hell in the summer. I feel my cheeks heat up.

He just smirks again and walks up to the front of the stage and shouts, "Hey Sollux, can you bring up the blue backdrop?"

"Yeah." I hear a nasally voice from above the stage, and two seconds later, the main prop wall turns a shade of blue.

For the next hour and a half, I take pictures of John in typical pop star poses, which gives me an excuse to check him out without him really noticing. At one point, I fixed his hair for him, and we made eye contact through my shades and oh god I sound like a fucking thirteen year old girl.

Eventually his band starts setting up and a "John, time for mike check!" emits from backstage.

John's face lights up. "Wanna mess with the fans with me?"

"How could I say no to that?" I say, following him to the middle of the stage.

He taps the mike twice and says, "Helloooo Houston, are you there?" which is immediately followed by shrill screams emanating from behind the locked and covered gates.

"1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, mike check can you hear me?" More screams.

"And yes we have a special guest here tonight, and his name is-" He swings the mike in my direction.

"Uh, Dave Strider." I say. Even that gets screams.

"Yes, if you look to the left-hand or right-hand side of the stage tonight, you will see a blonde guy about five inches taller than me wearing red plaid and aviators. That will be Dave taking pictures of my nice butt." John says. Screams.

I lean in next to him to the mike, "Yes, Egbertians the pretentious hipster will be me taking pics of John's delicious plush rump." Our cheeks brush together and mine heat up. Keep your cool, Strider, keep your cool.

John burst out laughing. "Plush rump, Dave?"

"Heck yeah, Egbert, that butt of yours is quite plush if I do say so myself." I say.

"Dave, I thought what we had was special, and now I find out that you just wanted me for my butt." He says, feigning hurt, but giving me a quick grin. "You should go, but before you do, let's _Seal it With a Kiss._" Extremely loud screaming.

For a split-second I think he was actually going to kiss me, but then I realize that he's segueing into a practice run of his other overplayed song, _Seal it With a Kiss._ I walk back farther down the stage to get some good shots, and I find myself singing along with him. He sends me looks that could be considered flirtatious a few times, but I tell myself that I'm reading into it too much and just try to ignore it. John Egbert could have any girl he wanted at the drop of a hat. Why would he hit on me, a guy?

Once he's done singing, he practices some scales, and his band plays instrumentals of some of his other songs, a few I recognize, and others I don't. And the fans keep on screaming at every little thing.

Soon enough, John's backstage again, getting his make-up touched up, his hair fixed, etc, etc. and I'm at my designated little "X" on the left side of the stage, waiting for him to pop up from the elevator-lifty thing. Most of the crowd has gathered, and there's even more streaming in. There's an even split between nine and eleven year olds and seventeen year old wannabe-hipster girls in flower crowns, short shorts, and crop tops. There is also a multitude of people in Ghostbusters shirts. The fuck.

I read the signs his fans have made, and most of them are your typical ones like "Marry Me John," "You're My Midnight Promise," "I Love You John," and "Kiss Me, John, It's My Birthday." But my favorite is from a girl in the front row whose says "Kick Me With Your Third Foot."

At eight, the lights in the arena dim, and the crowd starts losing their shit again. The lights start circling around the stage, there's a guitar solo going, John is lifted out from under the stage, and the crowd flies off the fucking handle. Girls in the front row start crying and spazzing out as John starts singing_ Seal it with a Kiss_. I start taking tons of pictures. John singing, bawling fans, John high-fiving the people in the front row, the Kick Me With Your Third Foot sign. Some people even notice me and wave, realizing I'm the photographer guy John mentioned. I nod back to them and for good measure, I take pictures of John's ass. He has a really nice ass.

Three hours later, the show is winding down and it's John's last song.

"Dang it guys," He says, "It's almost time for me to go. But I think I'm missing something. I think there's a song I forgot to sing." He scratches his head.

Wow, John. I wonder which one. Maybe it's your most popular one that you haven't sang yet.

"Midnight Promise, you're right! How could I forget that?!" I dunno, John. "Come on guys, sing it with me!"

I do in fact, sing with him.

_She's the girl that takes my breath away._

_She's the girl that makes me second guess, second guess myself._

_And now I'm making my way to her, to her, to her._

_And I say,_

_Hey, hey baby, you shine bright,_

_Brighter than the stars._

_Hey, hey, baby you're my light, my light, my light._

_And if the void doesn't steal us tonight,_

_I can make you my midnight promise._

_Now I hope time won't pass us by._

_You're just what I need, _

_You're the thief of my heart._

_You give me hope,_

_You're my life,_

_You put the stars in space,_

_You're my midnight promise._

_Hey, hey, baby, you shine bright,_

_Brighter than your stars._

_Oh, hey, hey, baby you're my light, my light, my light._

_And the void hasn't stolen us tonight,_

_You're my midnight promise._

There's an explosion of confetti, and the crowd is so loud I feel my ears pop.

"Thank you, Houston! Tonight has been amazing! Thank you so much, I love you guys! Really I do! Goodnight everyone!" John waves, blows a few kisses, and walks off. He walks over to me and quickly yells, "I got 30 VIPs tonight, just follow me."

"Kay." I yell back, following him backstage. A huge guy with long, black hair and sunglasses immediately starts following us as we wind down a few hallways to John's dressing room.

"I'll be just a few minutes!" John says as he disappears into the room.

The huge guy leans against the wall and turns to me, "May I enquire as to who you are?" His voice is deep and husky, and he's missing a few teeth.

"I'm Dave Strider, I'm here taking pictures." I respond.

"My name is Equius Zahhak. I am John's bodyguard." He starts sweating. It gets quiet.

"Alright guys, I'm ready!" John comes through the door in a new outfit. This time he's in a green long sleeve shirt, jeans, and green sneakers, and a grey beanie. Shit that's attractive.

"Please, follow me." Equius says leads us down more winding hallways to John's VIP room. I had no idea one place could have so many fucking hallways.

When we get to the door of the VIP room, Karkat is standing outside, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "Alright, fuckass," he points to me, "You just stand at your little fucking 'X' and take, like, three pictures of John with each of his fans." He turns to John, "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be!" John says with a grin.

Karkat opens the doors and as soon as John sets foot inside the room, my ears pop again from the sound of thirty screaming girls.

"Hands, off, hands off, you animals!" I hear Karkat yell. "Keep your hands off Egbert, wait your fucking turn!" I hear a mom gasp at Karkat's word choice.

John makes it to the front unscathed, and I find my way to the duct-tape red 'X' that says "PHOTOGRAPHER." in gray Sharpie. Not black, but gray.

The first fan comes up and starts crying and John comforts her and talks to her until she stops and I can get a good picture. He does this twenty-eight more times. There was one girl who didn't cry at all, and boy was she a piece of work. She had a picture of John eating a salad on her shirt and tried multiple times to kiss him while describing their wedding. Equius had to haul her out. I think her name was Vriska.

Eventually, the night comes to an end, I show John some of the pictures I took, Karkat hands me a check for my four-grand, and I'm walking out of the arena when I hear a

"Dave, wait up!" I turn around and John's chasing after me. He catches up to me and says, "Remember earlier at mike check when you said I had a plush rump and I said 'you should go, but before you do, let's seal it with a kiss?'"

"Yeah, why?" I ask. He does a quick look-around of the parking lot, bites his lip, and glances at the ground for a second and holy fucking shit John Egbert is kissing me. His lips are on mine. We are doing the kissy-kissy-lip-touch.

I guess I was so shocked that I didn't do anything, because a second later he pulls away and starts rambling, "Oh my god, Dave I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that, please don't tell, like, fucking TMZ or some shit, oh my god, nobody is supposed to know that I'm-"

I put my hands on his shoulders and try to calm him down. "John, dude, dude, no, okay it's fine, really." He shuts up and looks at me. "You chose the right guy to mack on, I'm down with that."

"You are?" He sighs with relief. "Thank god, I kept trying to get your attention earlier, but you didn't do anything so, this was pretty much my last chance. I'm really glad you aren't-" I shut him up with a kiss.

It takes him a second to react until he kisses me back. His lips move gently against mine, soft and slow as his arms find their way around my neck, and my hands to his hips. A minute later, he pulls away with another one of his smirks and asks, "Wanna check out my tour bus?"

I nod in agreement, and he leads me onto his tour bus to a little room in the back where we end up making out for a half an hour.

Tonight ended up being a pretty good night. I'll have to thank Terezi later.

* * *

**A/N: sorry the ending was so quick its one-thirty in the morning and i cant feel my face. i hoped you liked the crappy pop song i wrote for this.**

**thanks for reading and see you soon! *hugs***

**-smc**


End file.
